


Finding Our Way Home

by jessahmewren



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Drama & Romance, Early Days, F/M, Family Feels, First Time, MSR, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-15 12:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13031397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahmewren/pseuds/jessahmewren
Summary: Scully is there for Mulder when he loses someone close to him.





	1. Tea and Sympathy

 

-0-0-0-

Scully sank down into the plush cushions of her couch and sighed.  The tea she'd made still steeped in its little pot on the coffee table, a ribbon of steam floating from the spout.

She grabbed the remote control and flipped through the channels.  It had been a rare day off, and one she had chosen to spend in her apartment.  Scully drew her legs under her and looked at the well-apportioned space.  The modern Victorian style was both relaxed and sophisticated, the cool tones of the decor complimentary rather than harsh.  Because of the little time she’d spent here (and the constant battering it had taken over the years), the furniture was practically brand new.  

She sipped her tea, feeling content (if not entirely at home) in her surroundings.  Her eyes fell on a bookcase in the corner, its design both masculine and refined.  It reminded her of Mulder somehow, with his mash of books, papers, and magazines all stuffed on a shelf in their basement office.  She wondered with some humor how long it would take him to ruin a bookcase like that.   

A knock at the door pulled her from her revelry.  She sighed, putting her tea on the coffee table and pulling her robe around her.  Silently, she cursed whoever it was on the other side.

Before she could look through the peephole, Mulder's rich monotone resonated in the empty hallway on the other side of the door.  

"Scully, it's me."

She frowned, wishing she had more time to look a little more...put together.  But she was at home, after all, and it was 10pm on a Friday night and Mulder rarely made house calls.  She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing the wisps that were still damp from the shower.  Slowly, she opened the door.  

A little puff of cool air followed through the door as it swung open.  She stood there, one hand on the door facing and the other clutched firmly around her waist, securing the robe.  She'd forgotten to reinforce the knot, and the lilac silk would've slipped free had it not been for her efforts to prevent it.  

Mulder was standing in the doorway looking at her.  He wore a dark suit and a tie she had never seen.  She wondered absently if he had gone in to work today and was just on his way home.  As put together as he looked, there was something unsettling about his face, about the nervous way he held his hands at his side.  His expression was drawn and he looked tired.  

"Would you like to come in?"

Scully stepped aside for him, but he didn't follow.  She frowned, somewhat puzzled, and she took the odd moment to secure the robe more firmly, reinforcing the knot.  He watched her hands from the threshold of the door, saying nothing.

She saw him swallow. "Scully," he said a little oddly.  He looked into her eyes, and she could see a deep sadness there.  "I have to go away for a few days."

Her throat constricted at his words.  She didn’t like the idea of Mulder going anywhere without her. In the short time they’d worked together, their partnership, their friendship had been firmly sealed.  If this was one of his wild goose chases…

She tightened her arms around her middle and looked at him imploringly.  "Come inside, Mulder."  

For a second he didn't move. Then, he dipped his chin and stepped smoothly past her.

Having Mulder inside her apartment was less awkward than she might have imagined.  Scully pushed the door closed and leaned her body against it. She watched Mulder move further into the room, taking in his surroundings.

"Can I take your coat?"  Her eyes fell on the white ceramic pot on the coffee table.  "I was having tea if you'd like some."  

Mulder turned, almost as if he was hearing her under water.  For the first time he looked at her.  She still stood with her back against the door, the silk robe falling softly against her curves.  She had one leg slightly bent and balanced on the ball of her foot. Her feet were bare.

"I uh...I won't be staying long," he said stiltedly.  He found it difficult not to look at her, and even in his quiet discomfort he found it impossible not to find her beautiful.

Scully pushed away from the door and walked slowly toward the middle of the room.  She sighed, put off by his demeanor and the late hour.  

"Will you sit down?"  

She stopped a few feet in front of him, neither of them moving.  He swallowed nervously, then nodded as he took a seat in the chair opposite the couch.  Scully found her forgotten cup, the tea already cooled, and brought it to her lips

"How long will you be gone." She was looking at him over the rim of her teacup, the dread from before creeping back.  

"No more than a few days," he said roughly.  "Hopefully."  He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.  "I was going to ask you something."  

Scully set the tea down heavily in its saucer and pulled a leg beneath her.  He found it impossible not to watch her, track her movements. His eyes fell on the smooth triangle of skin framed by the silk robe and then moved up to her face.  She reminded him of a Renaissance painting; a rendering of an angel or the Madonna.  Her eyebrows were raised in question.  

"I was going to ask if you would go with me."

The question took her off guard.  He never really asked her to do anything, which she had stopped minding some time ago. He simply presumed.  After all, she was his partner, and it was his way.  He bought their plane tickets, he arranged her autopsies.  But there was something off in the way he said it, the look in his eyes.

"What's the case?"

He gave her quick smile, but it was noncommittal.  "It's not a case."  

 _So it's personal_ , she thought. Scully wondered briefly what could be personal enough to bring him to her door at such an hour.  

"Someone close to me has died," he said to her unspoken question.  "In Massachusetts."  

Scully sank back into the couch, trying to hide her surprise.  A puff of air escaped her lips.  "Your mom?"

It was one of those stupid, thoughtless things that slip out before you've had a chance to stop it. She would have never said that, yet she had and it was done.  She felt like dying.  

Mulder's mouth twitched once, but he said nothing.  She opened her mouth to say something, but he saved her the misery.  

"She was no relation," he said quietly. He gave a small, rueful smile.  "But she was important."

Scully pressed her lips together, the burn of embarrassment still evident on her face.  "Of course," she said.  She straightened a little.  "I'm sorry Mulder."  

He nodded, uncrossing his leg and locking eyes with her.

"So am I," he said bleakly.  

She followed him to the door.  The robe had struggled loose again, and she held it closed with one hand.  A fleeting thought crossed her mind of what he must think of her dressed like this, but she pushed it away.  

He stopped on the threshold and turned, one hand on the facing.  "Well Scully," he said rather dryly.  "I guess I'll see you in a few days."  

She straightened unconsciously and moved a half step toward him.  The shadows under his eyes had grown deeper with the late hour, and the harsh lighting from the hallway outside her apartment only seemed to add weight to the sadness that clung to him like a garment.  

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

He looked at her with some humor, and then chuffed lightly.  "Ask you what."  

She smiled. "Would I go with you.  I believe you said you were going to ask me. I don't think you ever did."

Mulder pursed his lips. "Didn't I?"  He looked at her thoughtfully then gave a little huff of amusement.  He met her eyes.  "Aren't you going to ask me why I want you to go?"  

Scully studied him for a moment.   _He would expect her to, wouldn't he_ , she thought.  She was always the one questioning him.  This time, though, it didn't seem to matter.  For once she didn't care.

"No," she said finally.  "If you need me to go, then that's enough."

He smiled, a genuine smile that drove the somber notes from his face.  He gave her a quick nod, his eyes never leaving hers.  

"Ok then."

Scully returned the smile. She had surprised him; that much was evident.  She watched as he patted the edge of the doorframe to have something to do with his hands.  "Ok," she said softly.

And suddenly, she didn't want him to leave.

But he was turning; already going.  She could feel the air between them stir and cool in his vacancy.  He was halfway down the hall and she was standing there in a silk robe watching him leave.  Scully stood there and listened to the stairwell echo under his weight until the sound had faded and he was gone.  

-0-0-0-


	2. In A Station of the Metro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the XmasFiles Creative Challenge on Tumblr. Day 17: Carols

 

-0-0-0-

Scully was warm and content to sleep.  A vague sense of peace surrounded her, a feeling both alien and familiar.  The blissful unawareness made her long for the comfort of sleep to last, even though she knew it couldn’t.  She was slipping into wakefulness, and the longer she fought it the more lucid she became.  Finally, a slip of cool air and a faint stirring at her throat startled her awake.

She cracked one eye before opening them both wide.  "Mulder, what are you doing?“

He was leaning over her, his hands at the hem of the blanket tucked under her neck.  His knuckles grazed her throat once more as he uncurled his fingers, finally withdrawing his hands.

"You looked cold,” he said simply.  "But you might want to wake up sleepyhead; we’re almost there.“  

Mulder sat back down in his seat by the window, allowing her to wake on her own.  He had commandeered the armrest, which meant that she must’ve spent most of the plane ride asleep on his shoulder.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a faint, almost wistful smile on his face.  After hesitating only a moment, she pulled the blanket under her chin and let her head fall back against his arm.  

-0-0-0-

The rest of the flight was spent in companionable silence.  Mulder wasn’t exaggerating about the proximity of their destination. They had landed and were in a car in under thirty minutes.

Scully leaned her head against the cool window, watching her breath frost against the glass.  Even in the cozy interior of the car, she could feel the cold outside.  She’d never been to New England, but she’d heard of how brutal the winters could be.  It was just early fall, yet the promise of colder weather loomed on the horizon.

Mulder pulled their rental car off the main road and rattled along a narrow dirt path.  A myriad of colors mixed and flashed as the sun peeked through the thick woods; like blooms on the branch of a tree the colors disappeared and reappeared in seasons of sun and shade.  It reminded her of a poem she’d read in college, one of those short, imagist poems that are like snapshots in time.  

_The apparition of these faces in the crowd;_

_Petals on a wet, black bough._

The car, the landscape beyond the window, it all bled together until it was impossible to determine what was moving and what was standing still.

Scully looked over at Mulder who appeared lost in thought.  He had been pensive on the plane, especially after she awoke.  The quiet gulf that had separated them during the flight remained undisturbed by either of them.  

The late afternoon sun squinted through the trees once more before opening into a wide expanse.  In the middle of it sat an unassuming two story home.  The facade was Old Colonial with a white-wood face that, for all its apparent upkeep, was showing age.  A stone path wound through a brittle carpet of dead grass to the grey wood steps and wrought iron banister of the old house.  It was a house to sing carols in front.  To a mow a lawn in front of.  Scully had seen a dozen simple houses like this one, yet it still felt singular.  

The pebbled driveway was a cul-de-sac of sorts, bending around an old oak tree with a tire swing that drifted gently on the breeze.  Mulder pulled the sedan in front of that tree with a full view of the house and it stuttered to a stop.  

He didn’t move at first. Instead he gazed at the nondescript house and its modest yard with barely-veiled admiration.  

"This was my Nana’s house,” he said quietly.  "My father was stationed not far from here, and this was our home until we left. Maybe three years, we lived here.“ He worked his mouth.  "But Nana stayed."  

Scully managed to hide her surprise.  She clasped her hands in her lap and wished for the ambient noise of the engine or a winter bird detouring on its way to Florida, but there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. She pressed her lips together.

"How long did you know her,” she asked quietly.  This was the most Mulder had ever shared about his personal history since, curiously, their first case, when they had sat in the dark and he had poured out the tragic story of Samantha and her abduction.  She was afraid to press too hard.  

He looked thoughtful. “Most of my childhood,” he said flatly.  "Or at least the parts that mattered.“  He frowned.  "Not long enough.”

He opened the door then and stepped smoothly out.  Scully exited her side, still processing what he’d said.  She looked for him and he already had their bags out of the trunk and on the pebble drive under the tree.

Scully stood beside him, looking at the old house.

Mulder looked at her a little oddly, then smiled.  "We should probably get inside,“ he said pleasantly.  "It looks like it might rain."  

She looked to the sky and indeed it was cloudy and dull gray, a sort of wet and drear pall that seemed to paint everything in muted tones.  She hefted her smaller bag and followed Mulder inside.  

There was a coat rack by the door, and Mulder quickly divested himself of his coat and scarf, even though it was drafty inside.  Quietly he motioned for her to turn, and with just a small amount of hesitation, she complied.  

She felt his hands fall gently on her shoulders, their weight the faintest of touches through her winter coat.  It was the green wool coat that she had bought for the season.  She and Mulder often found themselves in harsh climates, and at the time she thought it was a prudent and fashionable choice.  Mulder had once remarked on how much he loved the color, how it complimented her hair and complexion.  She had thought nothing of it at the time, but the thought of the statement now colored her cheeks.  

She shrugged out of the coat easily, letting it fall into his waiting hands.  Mulder peeled it slowly from her shoulders, the rush of cold in its wake causing her to shiver.  With the coat draped over one arm, he placed a hand near the base of her neck, feeling the gooseflesh there.  His mouth was at her ear.  "I’ll start a fire,” he said.  

She shivered again, though probably not entirely from the cold.  He had never touched her that way, though it wasn’t sexual and shouldn’t make her uncomfortable.   _Should it?_ They were alone and this wasn’t business, but to her hyper-alert mind, everything seemed to take on a double meaning.

Scully stepped further into the interior of the house.  It was rustic with a warm, homey feel.  The wide foyer had an emerald green runner that had seen better days, but it was clean, and she found herself admiring the gold stitching at the edge.  She moved slowly into the small den where she found Mulder bent over a stack of kindling on the hearth.

“I, uh…I would like to freshen up,” she said.

He stood from his ministrations and turned to face her.  Her cheeks were still ruddy from the fall wind, and she looked smaller without her coat. She smiled tightly, but her sapphire eyes sparkled.  

He dusted his hands, ridding them of some invisible offense.  His sleeves were rolled.  "Sure,“ he said.  "Let me show you upstairs.”

She let him lead, watching as he held the oak banister only at certain spots. The stain under his palm had achieved a rich patina from years of use, and she wondered how much of that had been his doing.

When they reached the landing of the second floor she noticed it was a bit warmer than the first, but not by much.  Mulder set the bags down outside of a nondescript wooden door and finally turned to look at her.  

“I think you’ll be comfortable here,” he said.  "And if you need anything during the night I’m right across the hall.“  He stiffened a hand at his side, working his way up to what he would say next. "Thank you,” he finally said, “for being here.”  His throat bobbed once and he nodded.  "I know it’s not the most normal of circumstances–“

"Being with you never is,” she interrupted, and they both chuckled lightly at the truth of the statement.  

“That’s fair,” he said with a laugh.  He smiled at the floor.  "I better work on that fire,” he said.

She gave him a soft smile, a little warmed by his nervous display. “You better.  I can’t feel my toes.”

She watched him turn and bound down the stairs, perhaps afraid that if he stayed longer he might say more.  _Or do more_ , she inwardly finished. But that might be her fear, not his. She slipped inside the cozy bedroom and pressed the door closed behind her. When he was out of earshot, she took a long, cleansing breath.

-0-0-0-

Mulder was in the kitchen when she came down the stairs.  She was toweling off her hair, and she wore an oversized sweatshirt over black leggings.  When he looked at her feet, he realized why he hadn’t heard her coming.  She had on a pair of fuzzy socks.

They were pink and stopped at the ankle.  It made him smile.  He turned from the stove and looked at her with some humor.  "I see you found a cure for your frozen feet.“  

She settled heavily into one of the kitchen’s ladder-back chairs, tossing the towel over a nearby rung. "Not really.  It’s still a bit cold up there.”  She eyed him curiously.  "What are you doing in here, anyway?“

He smirked as he turned toward the table.  "Well, since I am in a kitchen and I’m not eating or drinking, perhaps I am preparing something?”

Her deep frown at his sarcasm caused him to laugh.  "You really are an asshole sometimes, Mulder.“  She watched him nod, still smiling.  "And don’t tell me you cook.”

He moved the teapot that was resting on the counter behind him to the scarred surface of the kitchen table.  "Don’t get excited, Scully, it’s only tea.“  He slowly poured each of them a mug full.  "I interrupted this last night; I thought I would make it up to you."  

Scully’s mouth quirked into a smile and her eyes twinkled.  "How did you know I have tea after a bath?"  

He added two cubes of sugar and looked at her.  "I only guessed at that part,” he said quietly.  Scully was looking at him with such rapt attention that he found himself drawn to her.  The dewy skin, the brilliant blue eyes–before he could stop himself, his hand went out to touch the lock of hair that fell around her face. “You’re…hair was damp last night as well,” he said thoughtfully as he studied her face.  He saw her eyes widen and regrettably lowered his hand. “I just assumed."  

Mulder cleared his throat, somewhat chagrined at his open display.  He was usually such a master of control; but his recent loss and having Scully with him in such a familiar setting, alone; all of it had left him feeling raw and exposed.

"Mulder, what happened to you?”

He looked down at his hand. It was tied with a white cloth he’d found under the sink.  He flexed his fingers.  

“Oh this,” he said easily.  "It’s nothing.  I caught a splinter while starting the fire.“

It didn’t satisfy her. She took his hand without permission and opened the palm under the light.  He winced.

"I have a kit in my suitcase,” she said seriously.  Before he could stop her, she was on her way to retrieve it.  When she had returned, Scully carried a compact field kit and began spreading the contents on the kitchen table.  

He looked at it appraisingly.  "What did you think we would be up to Scully; you’ve got enough here for a trauma center.“

Scully smiled. "Well I just never know with you, Mulder.  I like to be prepared.”  She grabbed his hand, unwrapping the white cloth gingerly.  "And it looks like my hunch was correct.“

She leaned over his arm, their heads nearly touching.  He could feel her warm breath against his skin, smell the faint floral scent of her hair; her forehead was creased in concentration and she was oblivious to his study.  He leaned further into her under the guise of inspecting the wound, just to catch her warmth.

"Mulder, you’re in my light, I can’t–”

She lifted her head and their faces nearly touched.  Their breaths mingled, and for a moment her eyes slipped down to his mouth.  She licked her lips.  "I can’t see,“ she finished breathlessly.  Her mouth was dry.

"Sorry,” he said roughly, the spell broken.  Her proximity made him feel somewhat upended yet strangely complete.  Despite his desire not to, he pushed back away from the light and wrinkled his nose.  "I hardly think this warrants the kind of —“ he yelped mid-sentence as she began probing the ugly wound.  A piece of the splinter was still lodged beneath the skin, and she would have to extract it.  

Scully stifled a chuckle.  "Take this,” she said humorously, tossing him the white cloth.  "You can use it as a blindfold or to chew on, your preference.“  She shot him a wry grin, turned a kitchen chair around to sit astride it, and set to work.  

After she had finished, Mulder held the mug in his properly bandaged hand and gestured toward the darkened space behind her. "It’s warmer in the den,” he said.

They both settled on the Davenport, and Mulder watched Scully curl her legs beneath her like she had the night before, only that lovely robe was cruelly missing (admittedly he had held out hope that it might make a reappearance, but he understood why it hadn’t). She was beautiful anyway, and tonight he was beside her on the couch and not halfway across the room.  

“Tell me about Nana,” Scully said quietly.  She had wrapped her hands around the mug and settled back into the couch a bit.  

He pursed his lips thoughtfully.  "My mother hired her to help around the house.  She was no more than 20 at the time, and I was about 8 years old.  She moved in with us soon after that; everyone got along so well with her, but me most of all.“ He paused, looking into the fire.  The light from the flames flickered across his face, accentuating his fine features. "She was a playmate, a confidant. She was far more than a parent, Scully. She was a friend.  She was there when no one else was in the aftermath. After Samantha.”  

Scully had set the mug down on the coffee table and had her arms crossed.   She was looking at him with a softness and focus that he pretended was reserved only for him.  "How did she die?”

He sipped his tea. “Heart attack I believe.  She went quickly.  I’m glad for that.”  Seconds ticked as a silence stretched between them.  He could feel her eyes on him.  

“But you wish you could’ve said goodbye.”

Mulder looked at her then, and her expression was the wistful, knowing expression of someone who had been burned by pain, touched by loss.  He remembered how broken she had been when she had lost her father.

Instead of saying anything more, she let her weight fall against his shoulder and Mulder put is harm around her, pulling her close.  He registered the decompressing sigh, how her body relaxed into his.  He had not touched her like this often…Scully, especially, worked to keep the roles of their relationship clearly defined.  But Mulder did not believe in putting things in boxes.

“Are you warm now,” he inquired after several minutes.  His voice was lower and had a roughness that she selfishly wanted to hear more of. 

She smiled, turning her face into him.  "Everything but my feet,“ she said, her voice muffled against him.

He withdrew his arm from around her and nudged her back against the end of the couch.  She was confused at first, then curious. "Let me see them,” he said.

“Mulder, I’m not letting you see my feet,” she said flatly.  

“It’s either that or stick them into the fire.”  He motioned to her gently.  "I have notoriously warm hands,“ he said in his defense, and he began rubbing them together as if stoking some invisible flame.

How well she knew about those hands, she thought, and smiled inwardly.  Their firm warmth at the small of her back, a searing glance on her shoulder. And occasionally, the smooth palms intertwined with her own.

Mulder was watching her, patient and resolute.  He would wait her out, she knew, and neither of them would leave until he had had his way. His stubbornness was oddly one of his charms.  With a sigh, she gingerly placed her feet into his lap.

He noted her look of trepidation and smiled.  "Don’t worry Dr. Scully; I’m not going to repay you for the sheer agony you inflicted upon me earlier."  

She toed him lightly just above the knee, her eyebrows up.  "Sheer agony Mulder?  You’re such a whiner."  

He squeezed her foot gently. "And your touch could use a bit more delicacy,” he said with a grin. “Now lie back.”

Finally, she did so.  Mulder removed the fluffy socks and ensconced each of her feet with his hands.

Indeed they were warm, and Scully couldn’t suppress a sigh as she felt the cold recede.  Mulder moved from one quadrant to the other, intermittently warming his hands as they cooled against her.  He simply covered them until they were warmed to his satisfaction before moving elsewhere.  Her eyes were closed, and he allowed himself the close study he was usually denied.  

Her hair spread against the couch picked up the light from the fireplace, igniting the already jeweled tones in a gilded corona.  Her jaw was relaxed, and the half-closed mouth revealed the full beauty of her lips in a way he had never noticed before.  They glistened in the same light, and when he changed positions with his hands they gently curved into a contented smile.

She was a goddess and entirely too good for him.

As if she sensed him watching her, Scully opened her eyes.  For a moment they simply looked at each other until Mulder finally spoke.  

“You should probably get to bed,” he said quietly.  "It’s been a long day.“  

It gave her pause, then she simply nodded, wondering vaguely why their evening had to end so abruptly. She sat up on her end of the couch suppressing a yawn.  "What time are the services tomorrow."  

"Early.  But you don’t have to go, Scully."  

She shook her head sharply, ignoring his pleasantries.  "What time exactly,” she asked firmly.

He sighed. “10am.”

“Ok,” she said. She stood and shrugged deeper into the oversized sweatshirt, unsure of what to do next.  "I guess I’ll see you in the morning then.“  

She was halfway to the stairs in her bare feet when she turned to him, smiling over her shoulder. "Thank you Mulder,” she said simply.  He said nothing, but he watched her pad up the stairs until she was out of sight.  

Mulder sat on the couch for a long time after that.

-0-0-0-

Scully slipped into the sanctuary of her bedroom, for the first time thankful for the cooler air; hopefully it would calm the blush in her cheek, the racing heart that had nothing to do with the stairs.

She grabbed a few things and walked into the small bathroom.  The steam from her earlier bath was gone, but she wiped the mirror anyway, seeking a clearer image of the woman in front of her.

Things were moving. Things were changing.  She felt buoyed along by an unseen force, an energy that, without the restraining power of her usual circumstances promised much to a seasoned heart that had known so little of love.  

-0-0-0-


	3. Neglected Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the XmasFiles Creative Challenge on Tumblr. Day 18: Snow Boots

 

-0-0-0-

Scully awoke to the smoky, heady aroma of fried bacon and fresh-brewed coffee and knew immediately that she wasn't in her own bed.  There were no such smells in her apartment; she rarely made coffee, preferring instead to grab a coffee on the way to work.  It was just her after all, and coffee for one hardly seemed worth the effort.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, squinting at the small alarm clock on the bedside table. It was well after 8am, but the room wasn't that bright.  She planted her feet on the cool wood floor and stretched cat-like in the gloom.  

Scully made her way to the window, drawing back the gauze curtains with the back of her hand.  The bedroom faced the rear of the house and overlooked a few acres of rolling hills dotted with the gnarled fingers and mangled limbs of a forgotten orchard.  Apple trees, she thought.  She could make out a few of them that, against all odds, stood bent under the weight of a modest harvest.  It was late in the season, she thought to herself.  It would be time.

She pulled the curtains open on both sides, pressing them out on the rod so they would stay.  Through the thin pane and over the dappled tops of the apple trees, the sky was dark. Doleful clouds pregnant with rain dragged low over the horizon.  The wind inside them roiled like a tempest; the rain that Mulder had predicted yesterday would surely come today.  

It was nice here with Mulder, away from the FBI and from the structure of their usual lives.  The imbalance had been frightening at first, a threat to the walls between them that she so carefully protected, but Scully found herself more at ease now.  Had it not been for the day's solemn activities, she might even be relaxed.  

She let the curtains fall to again and turned away from the window.  The dress she would wear to the funeral hung on a hook on the bathroom door. The black fitted dress with strong shoulders that struck her just below the knee, her costume of grief.  She sighed heavily.

Scully hated funerals.

Not just since her father died, but before that.  Even since she was a little girl.  It seemed to her that her life had been punctuated by loss, a life dotted with intermittent struggle and illustrated by her stubborn refusal to give up.  Funerals only reminded her of that.  

She slipped on her clothes from the night before and made her way downstairs.  

Scully found him with a bar towel thrown over one shoulder and stirring something in a skillet.  She crossed to the coffee pot without speaking, and when he saw the movement in his periphery, he turned to her, smiling.

He held a wooden spoon and wore pieces of a suit, fine black trousers with an almost indiscernible grey pinstripe and a sharply creased white dress shirt.  The sleeves were rolled up over his tan forearms, and he had an apron tied around his waist.  “Good morning,” he said warmly.  His eyes sparkled in the early morning light.  “I thought you might like some breakfast.”  

She nodded quietly, filling the mug too full and having to sip some off the top before moving it. She smiled at him appreciatively.

Scully never ate breakfast.

But Mulder wouldn’t know that, and as she watched him standing there with that towel over his shoulder and with the wooden spoon and wearing that inexplicably spotless dress shirt that he had no business cooking in, she found it impossible to say no to him.

“Thank you,” she said simply.  She sat down at the kitchen table where she had bandaged his hand the night before and threaded her fingers through the handle of the mug. 

After a few moments, Mulder placed a plate of eggs and a side of bacon in front of her and sat down opposite her at the table.  She moved some around the plate before bringing a forkful to her mouth.  They tasted faintly of curry and were light and fluffy.

Mulder watched her eat, a curious expression on his face.  Her cheeks colored when she noticed his study, and he averted his eyes. "Did you sleep well,” she asked.

He shook his head slightly as if waking himself from a dream.  "Not really," he said quietly.  He smiled.  "There’s no place like a man’s couch."  He sipped a glass of orange juice, lifting his eyebrows over the rim.  "What about you?"  Mulder was stuffing food into his mouth like it was his last meal.

Scully took a swig of coffee.  “I slept ok. Do you really sleep on the couch Mulder?”  The thought of that made her suddenly very sad.  

Mulder slowed his chewing and took a sip of his coffee.  “Yeah,” he said. “When I do sleep.”

Scully thought of Mulder alone in his apartment, lying on that leather couch staring at the ceiling.

Before she had time to respond, he had stood and was clearing the table.  He had his back turned at the sink, and his voice was rough. "I better finish getting ready," he said brusquely.  He was washing the plates, looking down into the soapy water and avoiding the window in front of him.  Avoiding her.

"I'm going with you Mulder," Scully said to his back.  It wasn't negotiable and she knew he knew it; she had made that clear last night. She saw his shoulders stiffen a little and his hands still.  

"I know," he said without turning around.  "Thank you."  

She left him then, standing very much as she had found him--distant, distracted, and without seeing his face.

-0-0-0-

An hour later Mulder stood at the threshold of the house waiting for her.  He looked at his watch; they had just an hour until the graveside services at the small cemetery a short drive from the house.  Mulder pursed his lips, thinking.

He heard her weight on the stairs behind him and he turned, his eyes tracking the sound until he found her. Scully.  

She wore a demure black dress with a rich brocade appropriate for the cooler weather.  Her hair was brushed into soft curls that framed her face.  She was beautiful.

Scully landed in front of him, her modest pumps thudding softly on the polished wood floor.  She favored him with a soft smile.  "Hey," she said easily.  "You clean up nice."

She was trying to cheer him, he knew, and he quirked his mouth. "Have you ever seen me indecent, Scully?"

Her hand went up to press the knot in his blue silk tie.  She straightened it needlessly and let her hand drop to his chest, lingering there.  "Oh you're hardly decent Mulder," she said teasingly.  "But you're always presentable."  

He smiled, looking into her lovely face and warmed by her touch.  "Well, you're right about that," he said quietly.  His eyes roved restlessly over her face, vainly attempting to take her in all at once.  

Scully let her hand drop to her side, missing the warmth, the steady thump of his heart against her palm.

"We better go, Mulder."  

She was right he knew, but he was somewhat reluctant to leave the security of their shared space. Reluctant to go about the business of saying goodbye, a business he seemed all too familiar with.  

He nodded.  Mulder squared his shoulders and they walked out of the house together.  

-0-0-0-

A litter of leaves, orange and yellow ochre dotted with specks of red peppered the green Astroturf blanket spread around the little assemblage over the open grave.  Mulder sat stoic and solemn as a cold wind twisted around the tombstones that jutted like broken teeth from the dead-grass landscape of the small family cemetery.  Nana would be buried with her people, and the few that had assembled at the graveside Mulder didn't know.

Scully pulled her coat around her, shrinking deeper into its warmth.  She closed her eyes against the liturgy, the rattling leaves and the intermittent sighs and sniffles of the grieving.  

Beside her Mulder sat still as stone, his face placid and fixed beneath dark glasses.  She moved beside him and felt him stir and stiffen slightly in response.  She stole a glance at him.  Beneath the facade, the mask he wore for the world, Mulder grieved...for the woman he loved, for the family he lost, for things unknown to Scully--secret hurts related or unrelated to the way their lives had intersected.

She grabbed his hand.

Mulder did not look at her, but she felt him relax.  She held his hand until the service was over, and from to time he absently ran his thumb over her knuckles as if reassuring himself that she was still there.

On the way home they said nothing.  The silence was not awkward; indeed, it was welcome.  The funeral was stilted and uncomfortable and a necessary social grace. But it was over now.  Scully pressed her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes, listening to the soft rain pattering on the roof of the car.

“Death is a dignitary," Mulder said to no one, breaking the silence that had settled between them. She had been on the verge of nodding off, and she opened her eyes drowsily and looked at him.  

"Excuse me?"

"Ambrose Bierce," he said in explanation.  "Death is a dignitary who is to be received with formal manifestations of respect...even by those most familiar with him.”

He was providing commentary on the day, she thought, in his own way.  Scully was fully awake now and considered the quote.  Yes, she supposed it was true.  Death would not be ignored.  She cleared her throat.  "The service was beautiful," she lied.  In fact it was bleak and piteous.  He only nodded.  

They spent the afternoon in their own pursuits.  After donning more comfortable attire Scully explored the backyard, the forgotten orchard and the few trees that still stood against the ravages of time and neglect. The fresh fall air had that earthy smell that always lingered after a rain and it seemed to invigorate her; being away from the noise of the city was a welcome escape, and this was the first time she'd had a moment to actually enjoy it.  When she returned to the house a few hours later, she found Mulder in the kitchen sorting papers.  He had shed his suit except for the trousers and the crisp white shirt.  The top few buttons of his collar were undone.

"Look what I found," she said brightly.  She emptied her oversized sweatshirt and a few small, blush-colored apples bounced across the table.  

He looked at her curiously and with some surprise as the apples tumbled forth.  "Where did you get these?"

She took a bite out of one of them with a satisfying snap.  "The trees out back," she said around a mouthful of fruit.  He watched her chew with some fascination.  She wore a short ponytail and leggings and big clunky snow boots, and he had never seen anyone look so vibrant.

"I thought those were all dead," he said distractedly, returning to his work.  Scully pulled out a chair settled near him at the table.

"You know, with a little care those few trees that are left might make it," she said to him. "It wouldn't take more than--"

"I'm selling the house."

He stopped what he was doing, placed the papers to the side and folded his hands in front of him.  She must have been visibly surprised, because when his eyes fell on her face, his softened.  

"This is your home," Scully said, somewhat stymied by his abrupt announcement.  

Mulder set his mouth. "I don't have a home, Scully; I have the occasional sleepless night in an apartment and the rest in countless cheap motel rooms.  And If I did have a home, it wouldn't be this one.  This isn’t anyone’s home.  Not anymore.  I kept this house for Nana and she's gone."  

She looked at him, a little bewildered.  In the short time she had been here, this house had seated itself as part of the Fox Mulder mythos, of her idea of who he might've been before she knew him.  Of Mulder's history and family.  To think of it gone, no longer associated with him, was somehow wrong.

"I understand," she said simply.  She frowned. "When will we leave?"

Mulder pinched the bridge of his nose, wearied from the work of sorting through Nana's affairs. "Tomorrow," he said. "As soon as I have things taken care of."  

Scully said nothing. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms absently, her mind elsewhere.  Her eyes fell on a small stack of leather bound books amid the litter of documents on the table.  They looked like photo albums.

He watched her face bloom into a wicked smile.  "Are those what I think they are," she said wryly.  Her eyes twinkled as she reached for them, and he playfully stayed her hand.  

"I'm really not sure if you're prepared for this Scully," Mulder said with faux severity. "My awkward teen years were quite unkind."

She cut her eyes at him.  _Doubt that_ , she thought.  Mulder was devastatingly handsome now; the early version of that couldn't be too far off the mark.  

"Wasn't everyone's," Scully muttered in response as she took up the first album.  She opened the cover and the face looking back at her was much unchanged.

Mulder as a boy.   _Fox_ , she corrected.  A young child of 7 or 8 in swimming trunks splashing in a plastic backyard pool.  He had the same sensitive eyes that stared back at her now, only unmarred by the harsh truths of the world.  

"God you are were so adorable," she said delightedly.  Mulder only laughed.  

" _Were_?  Scully I’m insulted."

She ignored him completely. Album after album rendered the same. Chronicles of Fox Mulder as a young child, a teen, then a young man.  Mulder had been an athlete, a track star of all things, and Nana had kept every clipping, every mention of him in the papers, long after he and his family had moved on.

Two hours and two bottles of wine later they were sitting on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table in front of the fire and thumbing through the last one.  Scully had taken her hair down, and she let the shoulder length of it spill over the cushion and away from her neck.  

Scully felt privileged to have had this sneak peek into his early life.  She found that she had wanted this without realizing it, had needed to know just a little more about who he was before The X-Files for so long. She turned the last page.  It was a spread of clippings and photographs from Mulder's graduation from the FBI Academy (my God had he wore the hell out of that uniform, she thought), and she stood up clumsily to retrieve another one. Scully hadn't been up in a while and the wine they had shared still lingered in her consciousness like a welcome fog.  When she returned to the shelf where Mulder had retrieved the albums, she found him already standing there.

"There aren't any more," he said simply.  He had his hands on his hips and an odd look on his face.  

She looked at him disbelievingly.  "Nonsense Mulder," she said teasingly, thinking him to be self-conscious of the next installment and meaning to dissuade her.  "I've seen 'little you' bare-assed in a bath tub; there's no going back from that."  

He said nothing and his expression did not soften.  "There aren't any more," he repeated, and his face changed.  "Nana and I...lost touch for awhile," he said.

Her expression fell a bit then, and she sobered considerably as she made the deduction.   _They lost touch_ , she thought.   _He lost touch_.  

"Mulder, I'm sorry," she said simply.  She walked toward him with the last book in her hand. He watched her approach him, watched her pad toward him in her bare feet and a blush from the wine. 

"You shouldn't have come," he said quietly, but it was wavering and he didn't believe it.  

"Why not?" She placed the photo album under a nearby lamp.  "Because you don't want to face it Mulder?” She pinned him with a glare.  “Or are you just afraid to be alone with me?"

Mulder swallowed, looking at her warily

“Both,” he managed.

She wasn’t expecting that. Her face colored, and not just from the wine.  

“Maybe you’re right,” she said hoarsely.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”  Still, she steadily closed the gap between them.  “But don’t carry any guilt for your Nana, Mulder.  You carry enough as it is.”  

He looked at her with awe. She had closed the distance between them with just a few steps.  She swam in the oversized sweatshirt, and her eyes were large sets of sapphire that bore into his very soul.

“Mulder, what are you doing,” Scully asked, and at the same time he looked and his hand was making its way over the soft material of her sweatshirt to settle at the base of her neck. He didn’t even remember touching her.

“Scully,” he said breathlessly, “Aren’t you tired of fighting?”  

-0-0-0-


	4. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for The XmasFiles Creative Challenge on Tumblr. Day 19: Holly

 

-0-0-0-

She leaned into the hand that now cupped her face.  “We can’t do this,” she whispered even as her eyes closed against the warmth of his touch.

“Give me a reason why,” he said.  

She couldn’t think of one besides professional decorum, and that seemed so stuffy and dated.  Her mouth opened to reply, and then closed again.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop,” Mulder said seriously, his voice thick with desire.

His thumb brushed her lips as if teasing a response from her, but she said nothing.  Instead, she drew the digit into her mouth, lightly grazing it with her teeth.  

It was all the invitation he needed.  His other hand went up to cup her face, and then he pulled her to his mouth.  Mulder was ensconced in wine and apples and the heat of her mouth, and the little moans that resonated from the back of her throat that went straight to his groin.   _God, was it supposed to be like this_?   He picked her up and she locked her ankles around his waist.  The heat of her against his burgeoning erection felt incredible, felt right.  He set her down unceremoniously on the back of the couch.  

She look at him and her eyes were feral. Her moist lips were still bee-stung with his attentions and the color of holly berries before they’ve turned.  She worried the bottom one as she set to work on the buttons of his shirt.  

Mulder steadied her on the edge of the couch, but did no more than that.  He let her take the lead, enjoying her fussing with the buttons, the flying work of her doctor’s hands.  He kissed the top of her head, unable to stop touching her.

When Dr. Scully had finished her task, she appreciated the results, Fox Mulder’s tan, smooth chest and his broad shoulders.  She smoothed her hands up his taut abdomen as if reading Braille, stopping only brush the soft patch of hair right over his heart.  She planted a kiss there.

Mulder groaned, tightening his grip on her.  His hands on her back had moved to her buttocks, and they now began to work their way under her sweatshirt, relishing the silken skin underneath.  She recoiled a bit as his fingers were cool to the touch, but she soon responded to his skin against hers in so secretive a place.  

His lips moved to her neck, appreciating the delicate area below her ear, feeling wicked enough to nip at the skin there, eliciting a gasp from Scully.  He grabbed the sweatshirt at the helm and began to tug at it.  

Scully looked up at him. “It’s cold,” she said simply.  He only nuzzled her neck.  I’m gonna warm you up Scully,” he replied with a grin. His lips against his neck sent lightning bolts across her skin.  The heat that had already pooled low in her bellow increased in intensity.  

Scully dutifully raised her arms as Mulder pulled the sweatshirt over her head.  He tossed it unceremoniously to the floor, his eyes never leaving her face.  Dana Scully usually hid her slight frame under layers of armor…blouses, suits, trench coats.  To see her like this, the fire light glancing over her ivory skin, contouring her perfect breasts…  Mulder forgot to breathe.

“Incredible,” he managed. Then he buried his face in the valley of her breasts and picked her up off the edge of the couch.  

If Scully was bashful in any way, she neglected to show it.  Instead, she perched on his lap with the dignity and grace of a swan weightless on the surface of a placid pool.  She wore a black lace bra, her nipples straining against the taut fabric. Mulder’s hands were at her waist, and as she could tell by where she sat, he was very aroused.  

Mulder’s hips hitched into her instinctively, his erection growing more and more insistent.  He drew his hands up her lean sides, her ribs like piano keys until he met the thin band of the offending bra.  He traced its lines with one lean finger, and then his mouth bent to kiss the strap.  

“You’re so beautiful, Scully,” her murmured into her skin.  “So beautiful.”  She lolled her head to the side, her red hair catching in the firelight.  “God,” he managed against her neck.

Scully ground against him in response, releasing a throaty moan that threatened his resolve. Mulder’s eyes were wide, and he was breathing hard.  

He stilled her hips, and she looked at him curiously.  “I, uh…I don’t know how far you want this to go Scully,” he said haltingly.  “But if you do much more of that,–“

She cut him off with a kiss, a slow, sensual exploration of his mouth.  Mulder could feel the peaks of her breasts through the lace as they raked against his skin.  When she broke contact, there was fire in her eyes.  

Scully propped herself on her his cock more deliberately, causing him to wince.  Mulder watched in wonder as she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, shrugging out of it and discarding it with one hand.  She now sat atop him, full of splendor, watching him.

“Make love to me Mulder,” she finally said.  

He swallowed.  How long had he fantasized about hearing her say those words?  How long? And now, sitting before a half-naked Scully, he was rendered speechless by her beauty.

So he only acted.  His arms went up behind her, relishing in the smooth skin of her back now warmed from the fire, making soothing strokes there. He mumbled something but she couldn’t make it out, his mouth hovering near her breasts.

Her hands were threading his hair, stroking his head in a soothing manner.  Her eyes were looking heavenward, but they were closed.

Mulder’s lips closed around one of her nipples, his hot mouth searing her tender skin.  She breathed his name, rocking slightly into him.

Mulder groaned into her, suckling gently at the tender bud.  She said his name again, only more plaintive this time.  She pulled him away from her, looking into his eyes.  There was nothing there but raw and aching need.  

“Take off your clothes Mulder,” she said huskily.  “I want to see you.”

He grunted.  “You first,” he replied, and deftly placed her on her back on the couch.

She cried out in surprise, then smiled up at him.  “So that’s how it’s gonna be, Agent Mulder?”

He smiled keenly. “That’s how it’s gonna be.”

Mulder hooked his thumbs under the waistband of her leggings and slowly pushed them down over her hips.  Too damn slowly, Scully thought frustratingly.  She watched his calm, predatory smile.  He was enjoying this.  

Scully wriggled free of the leggings, her hands working his belt.  Mulder reached between them to still her movements.  “Not yet,” he said calmly.  

His hands settled at her waist, appreciating the delicate lace panties that hugged her slight hips. There was a bow on the waistband just below her navel.  He placed a kiss there.  

“Mulder,” Scully breathed impatiently, and twisted beneath him.  He only smiled.  

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this Scully?”  He bent to kiss the inside of her knee.  “I’m going to enjoy every inch of you,” he said as he smoothed his hands over the taut skin of her abdomen.  He pushed her panties down her hips and let them fall to the floor.  “Every morsel.”  

Scully swallowed, suddenly the subject of Agent Fox Mulder’s notoriously focused study.  It looked like Quantico’s star profiler was about to find out just what made Dana Scully tick.  

She closed her eyes, the silk of his lips smooth against her belly.  Her hands found his hair, closing in loose fists and then relaxing again.  Where he touched her he left a trail of fire.  

The light stubble of Mulder’s cheek rasped her inner thigh, causing her to shiver.  She opened her eyes in surprise.  Mulder met hers over the soft glistening mound between her legs, ready and waiting for him.

“Mulder, you don’t have to do that,” she almost whined.

Mulder worried his bottom lip.  “Oh I do,” he said sincerely, and slid her hips closer to the edge of the couch.  You’re so fucking perfect Scully.” 

And then his mouth closed on her.

She gasped despite having bit her lip, and the little moan that came after it could have been hers or Mulder’s, she couldn’t tell.  What she could tell, however, is that she had never been touched like this.

Fox Mulder was devouring her at a maddeningly slow pace, a methodical assault, purposely avoiding the one place she needed him most.  Even when she twisted into him he would correct her, intent on bringing her as close to the edge as he could without driving her over.  It was the cruelest sort of pleasure. 

“Mmm,” he said appreciatively as he lathed her core.  “You taste incredible, Scully.”  She was sweet and tart, like early season raspberries, and he couldn’t get enough of her. He looked up at her, her eyes shut tight.  He could tell she was close.  

And so was he.  “Do you want it like this,” he asked her raggedly. It took her a moment to come back from the brink and gather his meaning.  She shook her head.  “No,” she said after some hesitation.  “No Mulder I want you inside me.”

It was all he needed to hear.  In moments he had rid himself of the rest of his clothes and was lying atop her on the couch.  He braced himself on his elbows, running a hand through her hair.  

“Are you sure you want this Scully?”  He was looking down at her with true sincerity.  

She reached up and kissed him, tasting herself on his mouth.  The hot length of him bobbed on her abdomen.  “Yes,” she hissed.  “I want this, Mulder.  I want you.” She reached down between them and gave him a firm stroke from base to tip.  He hitched his hips violently in response.

“You do that again Scully and this is not going to end the way you want it too,” he said, laughing.

“Enough playing around Agent Mulder,” she purred in his ear.  “Time to see what you’ve got.”  

He plunged into her without ceremony, and it took her breath.  For a moment neither of them moved. Then, once her body had adjusted to him, Mulder set an easy pace and she matched him stroke for stroke.  

“So good,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “You feel so good Scully.”  

She hooked one leg around him, allowing him deeper access.  He filled her so completely, so entirely, and it felt so perfect, so  _right_.  For some reason it didn’t surprise her.  

She could feel her climax rising, a living thing waking from the depths of her coiled desire…maybe a desire that had lay dormant too long…desire for one man.  This man.  But he was handling her too…delicately.  As if she might break.  That was so Mulder, she decided.  Too afraid he might hurt her.  

“Harder,” she urged in his ear.  And he gladly acquiesced.  With ever stroke he almost completely withdrew and then slammed into her again, feeling closer and closer to his own release.  She dug into his back, and he could feel her body tightening around him. The little gasps and cries that were coming unbidden from her were finally too much for his resolve, and he found his own climax exploding on the field of his vision as he cried out into the crook of her neck.  She quickly followed him, her body shuddering and tightening against him until they both lay spent and sweating on the Davenport.  Mulder sagged on top of her, threading the damp hair away from her face.  

Mulder pressed his lips to hers.  Long had he wanted this, but he was afraid, afraid that she might not ever be comfortable with acting on their shared feelings.  

None of that mattered now. He trailed more kisses down the length of her neck, eager to fully possess her now that he knew he could. He exhaled, tightening his arms around her.  

Scully relaxed in his embrace.  "You may sell this house Mulder, but you already have a home,“ she said into the thrumming pulse of his neck.  "We both do now.“  

-0-0-0-


End file.
